


break my heart and start again

by tintedglasses



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Depression, Despite all of that it is, Disordered Eating, Getting Back Together, Hockey Trades, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Reference Suicide Attempt, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kent Parson Needs a Hug, Kent parson/therapy - Freeform, Loneliness, M/M, PTSD, Recovery, Suicidal Thoughts, Vomiting, break-up, but please be warned that it’s rough for most of it, detailed warnings at the end, drug mention, please skip if any of these subjects are sensitive/triggering for you!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-03 17:18:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,106
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17288222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tintedglasses/pseuds/tintedglasses
Summary: Sometimes, when it’s very dark and quiet in his apartment, Kent lets himself cry. He lets himself think about all the people that he has lost, all by his own fault. He knows he doesn’t deserve to feel sorry for himself. But sometimes, he can’t help it.Or, it gets worse before it gets better.





	break my heart and start again

**Author's Note:**

> Title from “Your Type” by Carly Rae Jepsen because you can’t tell me that Kent didn’t cry to Emotion on repeat when it came out. 
> 
> This was meant to be a therapeutic fic written just for myself in which I basically said “Kent Parson, but make it 10x sadder”, and this is what came of it. I went back and forth as to whether to actually post it because it is a lot of of self-indulgent angst, but I want to get back to posting things, so here it is. Be warned, though, that I called it “hurt, hurt, hurt/comfort fic” for a long time for a reason. It hasn't been beta'd and I'm not super satisfied with the pacing, but I want to get it out of my wip folder and I'm trying to be less of a perfectionist, so I'm letting it fly free anyways. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> On a serious note, if anything in the warnings could even remotely be detrimental to your mental health, _please_ skip this fic. If you have any questions about it before reading it, feel free to message me. But please, take care of yourself. If this will be triggering for you, don’t read it.
> 
> **WARNINGS (minor spoilers, see the end note for full spoiler warning): suicidal thoughts/actions, references to suicide attempts, vomiting, disordered eating, depression, anxiety, drug mention, and ptsd/trauma (let me know if there are more you think I should tag)**

Kent has learned to live a small life. It’s the consequence of living a life unanchored, of concrete plans shattering in the space between shallow breaths. He compensates by not tying himself to things or places or people anymore, not when he knows how easily the ties can be cut.

And when he detects faint tug of connection, he himself wields the scissors.

* * *

He tries not to make a habit of asking for things he doesn’t deserve, but he has always been given them. He suits up in his Aces gear night after night and the feeling that he stole his spot here never goes away. If anything, it grows.

Maybe some part of him understands that there isn’t much difference between a first pick and a second pick, but most of him knows that he is not who the Aces were expecting. They wanted Jack. They developed their system in the off-season so that Jack would fit right in and Jack _would_ have fit right in. Instead, they got Kent—a winger instead of a center, faster but not as disciplined, more lithe but less of a presence.

But Kent doesn’t have much left in his life to occupy his time. He didn’t make many friends in Juniors, instead spending all his free time with Jack, hoarding his friendship as much as he could before the inevitable separation of the draft. No real parental figures either, Jack’s parents too busy tending to their son and his actual parents too busy pretending that Kent doesn’t exist. He has his cat and his small apartment high above the Strip and that’s about it.

So, he throws himself into training, being sure to be the first one on the ice and the last one off of it. He finds his weaknesses and he grinds and grinds and grinds until they are smoothed away.

He sees the way the coaches look at him, first with awe and then with concern, but he doesn’t let it bother him. Hard work is the only consistent thing he’s ever had and he’s okay with that. He has to be.

* * *

Kent might have earned his reputation as a loner during training camp but that doesn’t mean he escapes the fate of being assigned a fellow rookie as a roommate during roadies. It’s fine. He knows that most of the rookies still go out and party whenever they can, so it shouldn’t be a big deal. Kent figures he’ll probably be asleep before his roommate even gets back most nights.

Of course, Jeff Troy ruins all of those plans.

He won’t fucking leave Kent alone. He somehow picks up on Kent’s sadness and makes it his personal mission to unravel it at least a little bit. He stays in with Kent, even when the other guys whine at him to come out with them. He puts on stupid Disney movies and tries to make Kent laugh by singing horribly along with them.

Somehow, it works.

Kent isn’t ready to have a friend again, but Jeff doesn’t care. And so, he gets one anyways.

* * *

Even years post-Jack, he thinks that this isn’t the way things were supposed to go. He was never supposed to be the one who ends up happy. He’s used to working hard to get everything he has, and he doesn’t understand how this relationship with Jeff has been given to him, handed over on a fucking silver platter.

He knows he’s not quite built right for this—for caring about someone else, for keeping them safe. Everyone knows that, after the draft. He doesn’t understand why he’s being trusted with something so fragile again when he shattered it to pieces last time.

But Jeff kisses him the night the news breaks that Jack has signed with the Falconers and selfishly he lets it happen. Jeff pulls back and says, “I love you”, whispered like it’s sacred, his eyes as serious as Kent has ever seen them. It doesn’t make any sense to Kent. He feels like a hollowed out shell most days, like he’s being pulled along by invisible strings, playing at being human. Kent doesn’t really know who he is anymore, doesn’t know how anyone else could know him either. But Jeff thinks that he loves Kent. And Kent—Kent wants so badly to believe that that could be true.

So, he lets it keep happening. And by some miracle, he finds a little sliver of happiness, tucked deep beneath his throat, and he does his best to keep it safe.

* * *

At the trade deadline, Jeff leaves for Providence and some nameless fourth-liner and a second-round pick in next year’s draft make their home in Vegas. Jeff’s toothbrush is still dripping water onto Kent’s counter from when he last used it and one of his dress socks is stuck behind Kent’s bed frame. Kent sits on his couch looking out over the lights of the city, quietly, unerringly alone.

This, though. This makes sense. This is how it is supposed to go. Just another person that’s slipped through Kent’s grasp, another person he doesn’t get to keep. Another person he didn’t try hard enough for.

It’s better this way, Jeff and Jack, everything he fears and wants and can’t let himself have, all in one place. It’s easier to keep them at bay like this, to not get tangled up in their strings.

If he can’t touch them, they can’t touch him. Or something like that.

* * *

He didn’t know that he was in love with Jeff until Jeff boarded his plane to Providence.

In the end, it doesn’t really seem to matter anyways.

* * *

Maybe in some other universe, two people like Jeff and Kent could have made this work. Could have bridged the gap in distance with intimacy, shared secrets spilling over phone lines, quiet laughter crisscrossing empty rooms and satellites to reach across coastlines.

But not this Jeff and Kent. Or at least, not this Kent.

This Kent has too much space to think now, too much space to remember why this was a bad idea in the first place. This Kent knows that people don’t want to stay around for the hard parts. They don’t want to stain their hands with all of the sadness, all of the grief, all of the broken promises. That even if they think they do, they eventually grow tired of it or worse, become tainted themselves.

He won’t do that to Jeff. Can’t. So, there’s no other choice.

It’s not hard cutting Jeff off. It’s actually devastatingly easy. He stops answering his calls or reading his texts and makes himself too prickly for anyone to press too hard when Jeff bugs them about Kent. They didn’t know Jeff and Kent were even together in the first place, so it’s not like Jeff can justifiably be too pushy unless he wants to admit to being Kent Parson’s boyfriend, which—Kent already knows how that goes.

He doesn’t block Jeff’s number, allowing each failed contact to be a reminder that the small fracture in his heart could have been so much bigger if he had given it more time.

And this isn’t like what Jack did to him. It’s not. When Jack left, Kent had no one. But Jeff doesn’t need Kent like Kent needed Jack. He has friends and family and a whole new life away from Kent. And just like Jack, he’ll be fine.

* * *

He had started going out with the team more when Jeff was here to help him open up, but that stops, too. Instead, he ignores their invitations and opts to go home to Kit at night. It’s a small life, but it’s what he does best. Besides, it’s better to cut them off now than to make them choose whether to jump ship once he inevitably starts to spiral again.

This severance is easy, too. When he thinks about it too much, he wonders if he ever had a team at all or if Jeff was the only reason anyone liked him in the first place. Sure, Scraps still looks at him with sad eyes every once in a while, and Davey still gives him obligatory invites to team shit, but no one ever asks if he’s okay or if he’s lonely or if he needs some help.

Though, to be fair, it’s not like he would answer honestly anyways.

* * *

Sometimes, when it’s very dark and quiet in his apartment, he lets himself cry. He lets himself think about all the people that he has lost, all by his own fault. He knows he doesn’t deserve to feel sorry for himself. But sometimes, he can’t help it.

He tries to itch phantom pills out of his throat, the distant memory of another throat in another time, pills spilling past Kent’s fingers in a hotel bathroom. There had been so many then that Kent was sure he’d never get them all out. And he didn’t probably. But it had been enough to save Jack.

Here, no pills spill out, none for his stomach to expel. Somehow though, the familiar rush of today’s dinner makes him feel better. Empty. Nothing left to hurt him inside.

* * *

It’s not that he forgets about the road trip to Providence, it’s just that he’d thought he’d have a plan by now. He thought maybe the phone calls would have stopped, but they haven’t, even though his voicemail is full. He doesn’t know what that’s supposed to mean, why Jeff is still trying.

He scratches his throat until he bleeds, puking enough that the smell permeates the bathroom, in case someone comes to check. Then, he calls Coach, his voice sufficiently raw and obtains a scratch for the game.

No one comes to check.

* * *

Kent is tired. He’s so, so tired.

The game’s set to start soon, but he can’t make himself move from his spot in the empty bathtub. He’s trying to ignore the small pile of Percocets he never used after his wrist surgery that spilled from his shower bag into the bottom of the tub.

His phone vibrates on the tub’s ledge and he rolls his head over to look at it. Update from CNN. Some politician is fucking some actress who is not his wife.

He swipes his finger over the screen, meaning to dismiss it, but accidentally unlocks his phone.

He’s so, so tired, and that’s the only reason he dials the number, fingers on autopilot.

“Kent?” There’s loud noise in the background almost masking the voice with how timid it sounds, like they’re talking to a ghost.

Kent doesn’t know what to say.

“Kenny, why are you calling?” Kent’s heart clenches even as they continue. “Not that I—fuck, I’ve wanted to hear your voice so badly— “

The sob that scrapes up Kent’s throat surprises him and Jeff, too, if the way that Jeff abruptly cuts himself off is any indication.

“Kent, this is you, right?”

Kent swallows and forces out, “Yeah.”

“I heard you were scratched. Is it your wrist? Are you all right?”

He might as well tell the truth. “I don’t think so.”

The background noise fades as Jeff presumably moves away from everyone else in the locker room. “Are you in the visitor’s locker room? I’ll come.”

“I’m not in the locker room.”

“Where are you?”

“I’m,” Kent blinks hard, his eyes swimming as he tries not to look at the pills. “I’m so tired, Jeff.”

“Kent,” Jeff voice is stern but cut through with an edge of panic. “Where are you? Is there someone with you?”

“I don’t want to be alone anymore, Jeff,” Kent whispers. “I never wanted that.”

“Kent, listen to me—fuck—I need to know where you are. Tell me now.”

Kent’s thoughts feel like they’re drifting away from him, just out of reach. “Don’t be mad at me, please.”

“I’m not, I swear I’m not—fuck, George, go find out where the Aces’ hotel is and call an ambulance—I’m not mad at you, babe. But you’re scaring me.”

Kent doesn’t want him to be scared. “Please don’t—I’m scared, too.”

Jeff whimpers. “Oh, god. Did you take anything?”

“No. I don’t think I—I think I wanted to talk to you. Needed to say...needed to...” Kent can’t find the words.

“It’s okay, Kenny,” Jeff says, voice thick. “You’ve got me, keep talking.”

“I missed you. I thought it would be okay, but it wasn’t. And I don’t—I can’t have you back and I’m so...I’m so sad, Jeff.”

“You can. You have me, I promise.”

“No, I fucked it all up. I keep fucking everything up.” He shifts, and one of the pills tumbles down the drain. He closes his eyes. “I don’t want to, but I always do.”

“Kenny, listen to me, you didn’t fuck anything up, okay?” Jeff’s voice sounds wet. “I’m going to come see you and I’m going to tell you to your face, but I need you to answer some questions for me.”

“I can’t—I’m so tired.”

“I know, baby, I know.” Kent knows Jeff is trying to be soothing, but the tremor in his voice betrays him. “But it’s very important. Do you have anything with you?”

Kent doesn’t look at them, eyes still shut. “Yeah.”

Jeff swallows harshly. “Okay. Did you take anything?”

“No.”

“Did you do anything else to hurt yourself?”

“No.” Not physically, anyway, and he thinks that’s what Jeff means.

Jeff’s exhale is loud in Kent’s ear. “That’s good. I don’t want you to hurt yourself, okay? Can you promise that?”

“I don’t know.” Everything hurts so much already, and he doesn’t know how to make it stop hurting.

Jeff lets out a single sob on the other end, voice high and reedy. “Just for a little longer then? I wanna tell you something.”

Kent nods even though Jeff can't see him, not willing to deny him again. "Yeah, a little longer."

“Thank you, Kenny. Thank you, thank you.” Jeff sniffs in hard. “I just wanted to tell you that I love you, and that it hasn’t been the same without you. I miss you so much. I never wanted to leave you. You have to believe me. I would have stayed in Vegas if I could have because I love you so, so much. I never want to go this long without talking to you again, so you can’t—" Jeff breaks off into tears. “You just need to—just don’t move. Just a second more.”

“I’m here.”

“Don’t move. Oh, thank fuck—" The call cuts off as the Kent hears the door to the hotel room bang open. “Kent!” Jeff yells voice clear without the tin of the phone reception.

Kent opens his eyes and waits for Jeff to find him. It doesn’t take long.

“Kenny, baby, fuck. What did you do?”

He shakes his head, tears spilling down his face. “I didn’t. I didn’t take any of it.”

Jeff crawls into the tub, grinding the Percocet into dust with his knees. “Kent, oh my god.” He gets it out before his sobs take over and Kent’s, too.

“I missed you so much. I was so alone. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”

Jeff’s arms constrict in the tightest hug Kent’s ever received. “You won’t, I swear. I’m never going to leave you alone again.”

They stay wrapped in the tub until Jeff’s heartbeat slows, Kent’s ear pressed to his chest. A knock at the door makes Jeff jump, but Kent doesn’t move.

A woman he recognizes as Georgia Martin opens the door. “Troy? I’ve got the paramedic out here.”

He can’t—they’re going to take him away. He knows it. “I don’t need a paramedic. I didn’t take anything.”

“Either way—"

Kent’s hand shake. “I don’t need that, though.”

Jeff’s eyes water and weaken Kent’s resolve. “Please, Kenny? It’d make me feel better.”

Kent looks back and forth between them, taking in Georgia’s firm expression and Jeff’s fear. He reluctantly nods.

They climb out of the tub and the paramedic leads Kent to the bed while Jeff talks quietly to Georgia. He doesn’t know why she’s here when he knows she should be at the game. Kent can’t hear what they’re saying over the drone from the paramedic, but he picks up a few hitching gasps escaping from Jeff.

Kent holds out his hand to Jeff, tuning out the medic.

“Okay?”

Jeff’s face crumples a bit. “Yeah, baby. M’okay. I’m gonna be right here”

“You can go,” the words burn as they climb up Kent’s throat. “The game’s—"

“Don’t worry about it, Kenny. How about you just lay down, all right?”

Kent’s still so tired so he goes down easy. He didn’t really want Jeff to leave anyways. Not yet. Jeff sits next to him, tugging gently through his hair while talking softly to the medic. Kent doesn’t listen, not really wanting to find out if they’re going to send him to the hospital now.

* * *

He doesn’t know when he falls asleep, but he wakes up to the sound of crying. When he cracks his eyes open, he sees Jeff sitting on the side of the bed, hunched over. He isn’t touching Kent anymore and Kent feels the cavern in his chest cleave open again.

“Jeff,” he whispers, and Jeff turns himself around quickly, scrubbing at his face.

“Hey, Kenny,” he says with a weak smile.

Jeff moves tentatively, like he’s half expecting his hand to pass right through Kent. It doesn’t though, settling on his shoulder instead. “How you feelin’, babe?”

“Like shit.” Kent creeps his hand up to brush his fingers against Jeff’s and Jeff grips them tightly. “You mad at me, Jeff?”

“No, Kenny. I’m not mad at you,” Jeff’s eyes are sad.

Kent rolls from his back onto his side, holding Jeff’s hand against his chest now. “S’okay if you are. I was mad at you for getting traded.”

That’s not really true. He was more mad at himself than anything, for letting himself believe he could keep Jeff, or anyone.

“Babe, no one’s mad at you. We were scared, and we just want you to be okay.”

Kent’s face feels tingly, like all the blood has left it. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for this to happen.”

Jeff squeezes his hand, “Shh, we’ll talk about it later, okay? Why don’t you take a nap? We’ve got a flight soon.”

“You’re coming to Denver?” Kent already feels exhausted at the prospect of trying to play in a game so soon. He’s so tired.

Jeff shakes his head. “No, to Vegas”

Kent shifts up to his elbow. “Why?”

Jeff is tentative, looking at Kent’s collarbone instead of his face. “Kent, tonight was really scary. You need to see your therapist and maybe go to a hospital. They wanted you to go tonight, but I convinced them to let me take you home first.”

Kent’s stomach drops. “You don’t have to be responsible for me. I’ll be fine.”

“What?” Jeff looks up at Kent, bewildered, before understanding dawns on his face. “I’m not doing this out of some responsibility, Kent. I’m doing this because I love you and I miss you and I want to support you. I’m going to be here as long as I can.”

“You’re going to stay with me?” Kent wouldn’t be able to blame him for leaving. It’s not like Jeff owes him anything and besides, it would only be evening the score.

But he finds that he wants him to stay, so badly.

“Yeah, babe,” Jeff’s throat sounds thick. “As long as I can. Sleep now. I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Kent doesn’t know if he can make himself believe that, but he closes his eyes anyways.

* * *

Kent wakes up in an empty bed shortly after, the familiar burn of bile making its way up his throat.

He rushes to the bathroom, managing to make it to toilet before his throat starts convulsing. He didn’t eat much yesterday, so hardly anything is coming up.

“Kenny?” He hears Jeff frantically call from the room, the main door clicking shut behind him.

“In here,” Kent croaks.

Jeff bursts through the door, his eyes still rimmed with red, “Oh, thank god. I went to the vending machine for, like, _one second_ , and I came back and you weren’t in bed and I just…”

Kent feels shame slice flood his veins, feeling like he’s looking at a mirror image of himself from the night before the draft. He can’t believe that he did this to someone else. His throat starts to spasm again. “Jeff,” he gasps out, sobs creeping their way back from temporary dormancy. “I’m so sorry.”

Jeff kneels down next to him, running his fingers through Kent’s hair. “Hey, no, babe, it’s all right. You’re all right.”

“No, I can’t—I can’t believe I put you through that. I know what it’s like—and I—fuck, I’m so sorry. I _never_ wanted anyone else to know what this is like.”

“I know you didn’t, baby. You wouldn’t. And I would go through it again if I knew you were okay at the end. I’d rather have been here with you than anywhere else, okay?”

_“Why?”_

“Because I love you, Kent Parson.” Jeff nudges Kent’s chin up. His face is covered in tears, but his eyes are fierce. “I love you and part of loving someone means being there when they need you. No matter what.”

Jeff rubs Kent’s back slowly, the width of his palm still familiar after all this time. Kent takes a few deep breaths, until he trusts that the spasms are over with. “I really fucked up,” he breathes out in their wake, the reality stark after his nap.

Jeff slides his hand across Kent’s back to curl around his ribs, gently tugging Kent into his side. He shifts so that Kent is leaning sideways against his chest, bracketed by Jeff’s legs, one thigh pressed along the line of Kent’s spine, anchoring his breaths. Kent presses his face into Jeff’s collarbone, unwilling to make to make eye contact.

“You didn’t, Kenny,” Jeff whispers back. “You called me, and you got yourself safe.”

Guilt makes it’s way around Kent’s throat tangibly, making it a little harder to breathe. “I shouldn’t have called.”

“Of course you should have,” Jeff says sternly. 

“No, I shouldn’t’ve. I can’t just...not call for so long and then drop that on you. You didn’t sign up for this.” 

“Oh, Kenny,” Jeff says, and Kent almost flinches at the disappointment in his tone. “You can always call me, okay? I don’t want you to ever think that you can’t.”

Tears threaten at Kent’s waterline. “But I was so awful. You left, and I couldn’t even say anything to you. I should have just stayed away so you could be happy.”

Jeff squeezes Kent tighter, his hands shaking minutely. “I was so sad when I left and I couldn’t get ahold of you.” Kent’s chest shudders. “Shh, I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. It’s just the truth. I wasn’t happy that I left. Hell, I’ve been looking forward to this game for forever because I just wanted to see you again.”

Kent barks out a bitter laugh. “Not quite what you had in mind, is it?”

“No, it’s not,” Jeff says quietly. “But you don’t know how grateful I am that you called me. Because I don’t know what I would have done if I had never gotten to see you again.” Jeff’s voice cracks on the last word and the dam in Kent’s chest breaks open, too.

“I-I don’t e-even know what I was doing,” he sobs out, turning towards Jeff so he can wrap his arms around Jeff tightly. “I didn’t—I wasn’t—”

“Shh, Kenny. Breathe. It’s all right. I know.”

Kent tries to match his breathing to Jeff’s. He can’t at first, but he keeps trying. He focuses on the feeling of Jeff’s chest rising and falling, pushes up into the hand running through his hair like Kit does, trying to take in all the comfort he can.

Eventually, it gets easier.

* * *

Kent doesn’t play in the Denver game. Or the San Jose game. Or the Seattle game. Kent doesn’t play a game for three weeks, because he spends two of those weeks in an inpatient program and rests at home for another week. It’s not that he forgets about the games, but he doesn’t actively think about them either. Instead, he focuses on his daily phone call with Jeff and on getting better.

And he’s really trying. Some days, the exhaustion and shame that he’s been carrying around feel overwhelming, but he’s learning how to work past that, how to find positives to cling to when it feels like he’s drowning. He’s always been good at working hard and he doesn’t see why therapy should be any different.

Jeff stays in Kent’s apartment for a few days after being scratched from two games for a ‘family emergency’, feeding Kit and visiting Kent once during the weekly visiting hours. He has to leave too soon, but he promises Kent that he’s coming back.

Kent does his best to believe him.

* * *

He catches himself swallowing too frequently sometimes, the phantom itch still present. It only happens when he’s really tired or when he’s stressed or when he hasn’t eaten enough or when he thinks too much; which is to say, it happens a lot but not as much as it used to.

His therapist calls it a tick, says that it’s a side effect of the trauma of watching your boyfriend almost die. Most of the time he tries not to think of what that means for Jeff, but sometimes he can’t help it.

He tells Jeff about the itch once, and about how he might have fucked Jeff up in that way, too, and Jeff cries. He says that he’s sorry that Kent is still so hurt inside. Kent feels full of hurt sometimes. The opposite of empty. But it’s getting better.

Sometimes, when it’s very dark and quiet in his apartment, he lets himself cry. He lets himself think about all the time that he has lost over things that aren’t his fault. Time spent wishing that he could change the past or at least stop it from creeping into his periphery constantly—time stained by the blackness of longing for something he would never have back, painting over any hope of what he could build instead.

His therapist says he deserves to grieve for himself. And sometimes, he allows it.

* * *

He invites Scraps over and they sit on the couch in silence, watching a movie with Kit. He can’t handle too many people at once, but he knows that he has to try. He can’t afford to shut himself away anymore. He can’t have Jeff all the time, and even if Jeff was here, he knows that wouldn’t be healthy, knows how easily that kind of relationship can become toxic. So, one by one he repeats the ritual of inviting his teammates—his friends—back in, and soon, it almost seems normal.

They watch him out of the corner of their eye sometimes, like he can’t see them doing it. He wonders if they think he’s going to off himself right there, but he’s trying not to be so morbid. They just know now that he’s not really okay and sometimes he’s lonely and he needs help.

But to be fair, they still come over anyways.

* * *

The distance is easier this time around. Now that Kent doesn’t have to hide his sadness, he can pick up the phone when Jeff calls, even if it’s a bad day. There’s still a lot of bad days. Sometimes, he sleeps too much and doesn’t hear his phone go off and Jeff bugs his former rookie that still lives in Kent’s apartment complex to knock on Kent’s door. But for the most part, Kent answers.

Jeff gets drunk one night and orders Kent one of those weighted blankets off of Amazon with a note: “i googld how to mkae you feel better. hope it hleps.” He blushes when Kent answers their Mulan Skype date call two days later wrapped up in it. They make a joke out of it, but Kent also sleeps under it every night, letting the weight of it surround him and make him feel less alone. He doesn’t know why it helps, but it does.

Jack calls once and leaves a voicemail saying that he hopes Kent is feeling better. Kent’s expecting the old heartbreak to resurface or for the world to collapse, but it doesn’t, and something inside him exhales in relief. He texts Jack back to say thank you because they’re different now; it’s not the same as what happened last time. Or at least, it doesn’t have to be.

* * *

Kent sometimes thinks that Jeff shouldn’t keep loving him. But he does.

In the end, that’s all that really matters.

* * *

Sometimes, Kent doesn’t really know how to trust the happiness that he’s so carefully cultivated. He’s not sure his mind is the right kind of climate to keep it alive.

But he tries to trust that he has people who love him, who care about him. Not just Jeff, but his friends and his therapist and his cat. It’s still a small life, but it’s not so singular anymore.

He misses Jeff a lot still, but the more they talk about it, the easier it gets. He doesn’t let himself get so caught up in his fears of what might happen if Jeff leaves because he can’t do anything about that. All he can do is keep reaching towards Jeff and hope that his fingers continue to find purchase. He finds it’s easier to keep him close like this, to let himself get tangled up in Jeff’s strings.

He sees Jeff and he lets Jeff see him. Or something like that.

* * *

Kent tries to make a habit of asking for the things that he needs. By some miracle, he’s usually given them.

He suits up in his Aces gear night after night and looks around at all the friendships that he’s been tending to, all the roots he’s let grow.

It’s still hard sometimes but everything he has is the product of living a life that is fought for, of rebuilding dreams that once seemed out of reach. He holds tight to things and places and people, especially knowing how easily the hold can be broken.

And when he detects the faint tug of connection, he ties it tighter.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Comments/kudos are always much appreciated if you feel like giving them :)
> 
> You can also reblog my fic post on tumblr [here](https://tintedglasses.tumblr.com/post/181698143399/break-my-heart-and-start-again-by-tintedglasses) (or come say hi)!
> 
> SPOILERY WARNINGS: Kent suffers from some pretty intense depression in this fic and isolated himself a lot. In the middle of the fic, there is an in-depth scene where Kent is feeling suicidal and has pills at his disposal. He doesn’t take any of the pills and calls Jeff, who brings a paramedic. There is also references to suicide attempts throughout the fic. Additionally, Kent is experiencing PTSD symptoms which result in vomiting and disordered eating behaviors. He vomits on purpose and scratches his throat until he bleeds while doing so. He does get help in the end, but it’s pretty rough throughout.


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